bittersweet
by appleschan
Summary: string of unrelated bittersweet short one-shots.
1. muse

_Disclaimer: _I do not own Bleach. I make no profit.

_Theme_: all

_Warning: _all

_Chapter word count:_ 592

_General summary: _string of unrelated bittersweet short one-shots.

_Chapter summary: _look, listen and don't feel.

**bittersweet**

i

_muse_

**…o0o…o0o…o0o…**

Ichigo rarely goes out in daylight and hustle-bustle. Writers hate noise and disturbance. _Rephrase_. Some writers don't like loud people. And he is certainly one of them.

Good actors watch real people. He supposes the same thing could be said about writing. Usually, he only needs a spark, his imagination, then things would flow out naturally and he would be raking in creativity and ideas. But then, lately, things start to change, he couldn't think of anything. It's like a widespread headache –a blockage in a mental highway –_he's out of inspiration_.

He decides to chase that damn inspiration by coming out of his modest apartment to try and see the real world -unless he wants to be stuck writing some mainstream yet rehash plots like cheating husbands or revenge shit. In casual shorts, light blue shirt and glasses, he sets out to the outside world, the real world outside his red door –his conjured world. He let his techs stay in his room. He does not need any of them.

It's a warm midmorning in May. Pollens populate the warm air blowing in his face as he struggles to find a shaded area. Finally, he sits quietly in a bench across an open area –a garden coffee shop.

The sits occupants include a black haired short girl in a dress sitting alone, old couple, three men having an outdoor coffee meeting and a group of girl friends having lunch.

He observes the old couple. He could glean out their history, maybe. He could wonder endlessly about how they met, did their relationship survive some war?

He readies his notebook and pencil and within minutes, he was firing away with his observations and reality snapshots. But none hit his spark yet.

He only stops –ungratefully so- when he turns to look at the girl sitting alone. She's still there. It has been over two hours and she's still sitting alone. The sky signals a rain approaching and Ichigo wonders when will she leave.

He looks at her. The slight hue of blue and violet suits her yet it was somehow too big for her. Her hair is short, curling just below her chin and the way her palm rest beneath her chin or her fingers drum constantly tells him she's still patiently waiting for someone. Is it a friend? Or a family? Or a lover maybe? Can she tell a story?

Her eyes are the color of brightest violet he has ever seen. What's her story, he wonders.

Somehow, Ichigo stops writing and shifts in his bench to carefully observe her, his pencil beats on his journal paper; he is waiting for the right words. Yet he knows he shouldn't be waiting for it, he should be writing down everything his senses hit.

Another solid thirty minutes pass in silence and she's still alone, and so Ichigo decides to wait with her for another hour.

She stands, graceful and slow with her hand firmly pushing her off the table.

She stands, and Ichigo smirks openly at her diminutive height.

She stands, and Ichigo notices the ring on her finger and her small yet noticeable baby bump.

Finally, Ichigo sees another man approaching her with a bouquet of cliché red roses.

The man whispers _Rukia, _the man's voice is quiet but loud enough for Ichigo to hear. And the short pregnant woman –_Rukia_- looks at the roses disbelievingly, folds her arm across her chest then makes a choking noise.

Ichigo hears her say an almost condescending husky tone, '_really_? _After all these years_? _Still_?'

Ichigo watches her carefully. She does not seem tired after all the waiting. On her face is a memorable smile.

That's it. Ichigo swallows hard, stands and walks away.

There's his muse.

**…o0O0o…**

_the end_

**Author's note**

thanks for reading

-_appleschan_


	2. blind

_Disclaimer: _I do not own Bleach. I make no profit.

_Theme_: all

_Warning: _all

_Chapter word count:_ 408

_General summary: _string of unrelated bittersweet short one-shots.

_Chapter summary: _it's because he can't have her.

**bittersweet**

ii

_blind_

**…o0o…o0o…o0o…**

He fucks another woman because he can't have her. It's not sexual addiction, the psychological and anxiety type. It's not dysfunctional hyper stylize erotic urges and acts for absolutely no fucking reason either. It's simply an addiction to her, _to Rukia_, but she's not his. So he fucks another woman while thinking about her. As simple as that.

Sometimes he wonders if she has any idea -the slightest idea about his sneaky advances. Each of his condescending snide towards her meant something, some sort of deep-seated lust that he can only express through verbal clashes with her. She's his best friend.

She often says he's too handsome for her –she comments offhandedly- on rare occasions when they joke about growing old alone. Ichigo almost takes her comments seriously, he likes it of course, coming from her pretty little mouth.

'_You think I'm attractive_?'

Rukia would nod as if he's stating that oxygen is breathable and that Earth is round.

'_Then sleep with me_.'

She smiles and politely declines, of course. Then there are comments about his model girlfriends being prettier than her. Then Ichigo would swallow his pathetic attempt and feel hopeless as his heart clenches.

He remembers he said to her on one drunken night, that he's okay with marrying her if nobody would.

He also asks her for a 'friendly' date lunch one day when he sees her sad and tired.

He sits with her all night long when she mourns her brother's death.

He's a fool too, a hard headed fool because he never stops sending signals. It's Rukia that is fucking blind.

"That's a handsome suit…" The woman –the brunette from last night- purrs in his ears. "Is it a wedding?"

"Yes." Ichigo glances at her and smiles.

"Can I come with you?" she asks, hugging his waist and pressing her bare breast in the crispness of his white shirt.

Somehow, in the morning light seems calming and pretty, a shitty insult to him.

"No." No woman can come with him.

He gently shrugs her off and gestures for her to return the bed, then he utters a simple commentary to her beauty when she's naked. The brunette model blushes. It was a comment for Rukia.

He stares back in the mirror and yeah, he looks pretty okay for a special day. His dress shirt and all that shit.

Rukia picks up his suit for her wedding. He's the best man for her wedding.

**…o0O0o…**

_the end_

**Author's note**

thanks for reading.

-_appleschan_


	3. kiss

_Disclaimer: _I do not own Bleach. I make no profit.

_Theme_: all

_Warning: _all

_Chapter word count:_ 346

_General summary: _string of unrelated bittersweet short one-shots.

_Chapter summary: _it's just a kiss.

**bittersweet**

iii

_kiss_

**…o0o…o0o…o0o…**

When he tilts her head to the side and deepens the kiss, he forces himself not to think. But he couldn't.

They weren't the affectionate type to kiss in front of a whole crowd. The crowd of 1940 and all. It surprises him –and her- when he impulsively grabs her from the unsuspecting crowd.

He pulls her arm and places it around his neck. He lifts her high and her legs wraps around his waist.

He does not know if it was minutes or seconds, but he's taking his very little time. He tries to tell her things he could not say out loud, things he's too embarrassed.

At this moment, he's passionate and selfish. The world could burn behind him.

Rukia breaks the kiss, and his eyes snap open.

He doesn't know what to say. She doesn't know what to say either. It's amazing –worthy of Shakespearean words.

Both of her hands are on both sides of his cheeks. She stares at him, her mouth opens slightly –maybe she could tell him now.

But before she could form the words, Ichigo forces her neck down once again.

He kisses her hard until she's breathless, until her knees become wobbly, until the feel becomes permanently burned in her mind.

Until she has no hope of erasing his existence.

_Is he scared_?

Ichigo unhooks her legs from his waist and slowly hoists her down.

"Try to come home." She says quietly.

He does not answer, not because he does not know what to tell her; he knows it too well.

Instead, he nods and turns his back. Everything he needs to tell her, all of it –he already did.

Ichigo heads off towards the other soldiers. He has an impending war to fight. He doubts his helmet can keep his head intact. He doubt if the bayonet in his hands can help him survive long enough to actually picture her face before his last breath. He doubts if he can come back home to her.

But he never doubts that the last kiss is always the best.

**…o0O0o…**

_the end_

**Author's note**

thanks for reading.

-_appleschan_


	4. touch

_Disclaimer: _I do not own Bleach. I make no profit.  
_Theme_: all  
_Warning: _all  
_Chapter word count:_ 253  
_General summary: _string of unrelated bittersweet short one-shots.  
_Chapter summary: _he lets her touch him.

**bittersweet**

iv

_touch_

**…o0o…o0o…o0o…**

Two hours before dawn, she usually wakes him. He has work so doesn't really mind her ridiculous timing.

Sometimes, she's like a broken, screechy alarm clock that repeatedly hammers on his chest. Sometimes, she's like a wind with a mouth that nibbles on his ear, cheek and chest gently. Ichigo can't complain, she likes doing it to him.

Ichigo does not remember the scent she's wearing. But then, he does not remember the silk she's wearing either.

Ichigo turns slightly, and he could feel Rukia huffs indignantly.

"_Wake_ _up_."

He lets her wake him up. Because whether he likes or not, he would feel her on top of him, whispering things he could not comprehend while his consciousness shuffles between dream and reality.

On rare times, he would catch her small hand on his chest and lightly squeeze it. To let her know he's awake, then he would feel her shift weight and rest beside him quietly.

Sometimes he moans, sometimes he frowns. Her touches range from soft to rough –depends on her mood, maybe.

He's used to it, to her waking him up with her touch everyday for three years.

But he never opens his eyes. He does not open his eyes because he's not sure what he might see. He does not open his eyes because he's scared of what he might see in her face.

He does not open his eyes even if she clearly whispers his name and touches his face.

"_Ichigo_."

Because Rukia, in fact, died three years ago.

**…o0O0o…**

_the end_

**Author's notes**

thanks for reading.  
-_appleschan_


	5. status quo ante

_Disclaimer: _I do not own Bleach. I make no profit.  
_Theme_: all  
_Warning: _all  
_Chapter word count:_ 391  
_General summary: _string of unrelated bittersweet short one-shots.  
_Chapter summary: _classic friends with benefits and cheating.

**bittersweet**

v

_status quo ante_

**…o0o…o0o…o0o…**

Shit happens when it's no longer about sex.

"_Why didn't we end together_?" He asks her.

She answers…she answers nothing.

The kisses are deeper, the thrusts are harder and the supposed physical-_only_ gratification acts hold more meaning than it should. It happens when there's a need for so-called _comfort_.

It happens when he's fresh from a fight with his girlfriend, it happens when she's disgruntled with her boss-boyfriend.

After sex, the silence between the two of them is at its loudest. Like a deafening roar from a hungry lion beside a sleeping gazelle, like the fucking pink, polka-dotted elephant in the room. Things they don't dare say but blatantly obvious. Things that eat them up inside and make them slowly question their life choices.

The urgency becomes unbelievable the more they prolong their meetings in their little escape world. The touches are more aggressive and there's this unexplained need when Ichigo grabs her and kisses her suddenly.

Rukia is sure Ichigo's eye aversions mean something when she _dared_ to ask him about it the last time.

Ichigo is sure Rukia does not cook for anybody else except for him.

Rukia is sure he means it when he calls out her name the last time they slept together.

Ichigo is sure he has more lingerie –that belongs to Rukia- than her boyfriend.

Rukia is sure she shreds more of his dress shirts than his girlfriend.

His boyish grin vanishes slowly when she initiates talks outside their little secret. Her playful snarky remarks become indifferent when he mentions his girlfriend. His brings up better accomplishments when she talks about her boyfriend's business deals.

Rukia notices it. Ichigo notices it. But they couldn't do something about it other than pathetically meet when no one is looking, they can't even say it to one another up front.

Because shit really happens when it's no longer about sex.

They cannot go that path. They both have no time for motherfucking life dramas and non-sense complications that can hurt other people. She makes it clear and he accepts it.

But they both know what they have is changing. He couldn't tell her that. She couldn't tell him that.

Underneath the bedcovers, he sneaks a hand and grasps for her small one. She does not object and interlace her fingers with his. This is their last time together.

_…_**o0O0o…**

_the end_

**Author's Note**  
i might consider a happy ending one shot.

thanks for reading.  
-_appleschan_


	6. carnival

_Disclaimer: _I do not own Bleach. I make no profit.

_Theme_: all

_Warning: _all

_Chapter word count:_ 449

_General summary: _string of unrelated bittersweet short one-shots.

_Chapter summary: _play pretend.

**bittersweet**

vi

_carnival_

…**o0o…o0o…o0o…**

He loves her. He does not. He cares for her. He does not.

"Kaien,"

"Yes?" Ichigo answers and follows her voice. Rukia, his soon to be wife is calling him.

When she calls him, he knows she's expecting someone else. Some princely man of sorts, the rich prince who looks just like him yet absolutely different from him -_Ichigo_.

Ichigo the peasant. Ichigo the poor. Ichigo the worthless.

Ichigo who lives in a hut and tends to the filthy horses every day. Stupid, filthy Ichigo watches the rich prince with the same face as his eat breakfast and spend the rest of the day with his princess.

Poor and peasant Ichigo who can't give her pretty shiny jewels and wealth. Poor Ichigo who survives everyday by leftover, stale soup from the castle kitchen. Peasant Ichigo who can't afford decent clothes.

Pretty princess Rukia who looks nice and worthless Ichigo watches her silently every day and night. Poor and worthless Ichigo wishes that he can be her prince.

Princess Rukia is engaged to him, the rich prince. The rich prince who looks like Ichigo. The rich prince who stole her from him.

Poor Ichigo feels anger. Peasant Ichigo feels deprived. Worthless Ichigo feels sad.

That is why, on the last night of the carnival, poor Ichigo dons a stolen jester mask and dyes his hair black. Ichigo the peasant changes identity. He kills _him_, disposes his body and takes his place. Kaien is not for her.

…

"He has this fantasy world." The psychiatrist explains. "He believes he's a prince, a peasant turned prince to be precise."

Rukia looks around the mental facility. There's his family, his friends -people who may or may not blame her for his condition.

She takes silent, timid steps towards the four inch thick glass window which reflects her image clearly. There she is, pale, skinny and as deathly-looking as a ghost.

Behind the glass windows, Ichigo sits silently. He looks neither unruffled nor apprehensive. Ichigo is perfectly calm, and stares at things with awe, like a child.

Ichigo looks like an innocent child; Ichigo killed his cousin last night.

The psychiatrist speaks again. "He believes he's a prince and Shiba-san is his rival for the princess -_you_."

Ichigo -from inside the glass window- looks and walks towards her like he can see her, he stands directly in front of her, he puts his hand up where her hand is, and then he smiles gently at her.

Rukia's heart gives a terrible lurch.

…

_Poor, filthy Ichigo does not know he's lost in insanity. Poor, peasant Ichigo does not know what's real. Poor, worthless Ichigo distorts and disjoints everything because she left him._

…**o0O0o…**

_the end_

**Author's note**

i want to expand but i'm sleepy and i have work tomorrow.

ETA: thanks, Snow, i cant stop laughing.

thanks for reading. bye.

-_appleschan_

\


	7. playwright

_Disclaimer: _I do not own Bleach. I make no profit.

_Theme_: all

_Warning: _all

_Chapter word count:_ 370

_General summary: _string of unrelated bittersweet short one-shots.

_Chapter summary: _things unsaid.

**bittersweet**

vii

_playwright_

**…o0o…o0o…o0o…**

The lights are dim, the audiences are silent and the play –his play- nears its end, the grand end that his audiences hope for.

The world outside is chaotic, he thinks. So he confines himself in the ordered cabinet of his mind, that's what he prefers to think.

_Ordered_.

There's immediacy in his chest as he watches the last scene unfolds. He looks at the audience and he knows that he has done his job once again. The last scene grants the most important feeling; he does not do sad endings. The last line gives the greatest impression; everybody wants to be happy.

He's a genius, he has real talent. He has awards. He's acclaimed.

_Wrecked_.

Ironic it is that he writes the happiest scenes in his saddest moments. He creates the happiest acts he could think of without giving up class and succumbing to the anticlimactic.

He wrote his best work when she told him she found someone to be with.

So he inserts, subliminally, things he wants to tell her, things he bottles up inside because he's _just_ a friend. He carefully crafts his works for her, around her, about her –the actress that plays his heroines, his strong and selfless heroines. .

He constructs characters with personalities that depict his emotions, scarily expressive for a person with a no-nonsense exterior.

Hoping that maybe, she might see something in her roles and look at him and see him differently. So he waits, he hopes for that one moment to happen. But then, maybe never.

Ichigo stands comfortably in the back, not at a theater box but near the exit, where he can't see her kiss the leading actor.

This is the final moment –a minute before curtain closure. And he recites in his head the last line he wrote for her character -_Rukia's_ role.

'_Do not worry, I will stay with you always.'_

He writes plays for her. He writes plays for her because he can't have her in real life, he lives his fantasy with her by writing plays for her.

He writes it because he's weak and it's the only thing he can do.

And in the end, he never gets to give her an after performance rose bouquet.

**…o0O0o…**

_the end_

**Author's Note**

i'll stop torturing him soon.

thanks for reading.

-_appleschan_


	8. blank

_Disclaimer: _I do not own Bleach. I make no profit.

_Theme_: all

_Warning: _all

_Chapter word count:_ 560

_General summary: _string of unrelated bittersweet short one-shots.

_Chapter summary: _just wait

**bittersweet**

VIII

_blank_

**…o0o…o0o…o0o…**

Ichigo dislikes Ishida's antics. Those glasses and pompous attitude that annoys him to no end -yet he managed to put up with him for years during Med School. Ishida made Rukia's dress, and she thinks it's a lifelong debt to him so Ichigo has no choice but to put up with Ishida and his shit -_every time_. And she really likes his creations.

Ishida is a doctor, a designer and a moron. And seeing him sit beside him quietly -but oozing with icy silent authority- like he usually does reminds him of their internship hours when Ishida would, like a real pompous brat, brutally _correct_ his answers every time and in front everybody.

Ichigo is so used to hearing his smug voice that he wonders why he hasn't heard a word from him since he arrived eight hours ago.

There's Inoue, the girl that likes him -_still_. Inoue, who alternates between crying and smiling at the thought of him, confuses him -still- to no end. But he appreciates her effort and -to some degree- her feelings for him, but it's _not_ her.

Chad went home hours ago. Ichigo sat with him all night. They have a silent understanding.

Then there's Rukia. She's ushering the delivery boys where to put the flowers. She occasionally looks in his direction, he looks back at her directly, then she looks away again. He thinks she's still mad because just a week before, he carelessly slip the _tiny _Kurosaki's arrival to their family and friends -without her. Because he's fucking excited to be a father. He understands why she's mad and she's pretty fucking stoked herself when they got the news. They would become parents.

Then Ichigo hears his father gleefully laugh. "Yes! It's his new name!" Isshin booms, pointing to a paper that has a name written in kanji.

He should beat his father. He should really beat his father. Who the fuck buys an obsolete name for 2 million yen?

But still. It's a new name.

Rukia sits beside him. He does not hold her hand because really, what comfort would that do?

-ah fuck! He forgot! He forgot to shut the window to their bedroom or throw away the used coffee filters and water their lone stupid real plant inside the house. When they got married, he and Rukia divided stuff to do, he got the easier ones. She'd be fucking pissed if once she sees it.

Then like shit hitting the fan continuously, he suddenly remembers the dinner he reserved days ago got canceled, and he forgot to tell Rukia. But then, she probably figured it out.

Rukia looks around them, to the pretty arrangement for him, her head tilting side to side and her eyebrows in constant frown, he knows she's trying to catch one out of place detail. But he thinks, what fucking waste of time.

Rukia finally stops looking around and he looks at his wife, she is fighting back her emotions -like she always does. So he sat there, quiet as well. What can he do? He couldn't tell her comforting words -she'll scoff at him for even attempting to be romantic, he isn't.

But he badly wants to hold her hand but he couldn't. It fucking sucks. He just has to wait.

They will burn him, and he won't feel anything.

He realizes -with so much annoyance- that he does not like watching his own funeral.

**…o0O0o…**

_the end_

**Author's note**

what a 15-minute morning coffee break resulted in. but i don't think i'm fully awake yet. 10:17 am.

thanks for reading.

-_appleschan_


	9. sundown

_Disclaimer:_I do not own Bleach. I make no profit.

_Theme_: all

_Warning:_all

_Chapter word count:_ 598

_General summary:_string of bittersweet short one-shots.

_Chapter summary:_gone. burned.

_*don't be too suspicious_

**bittersweet**

ix

_sundown_

**…o0o…o0o…o0o…**

It's his divorce day. That's it. Gone. Burned. Right in the fucking dumpster.

She thinks it's because he's too jealous, aggressive and possessive -like some villain in a goddamn TV show.

He's a man. He guards what's his. She is his.

Unfortunately, he does it every time, displays it to anyone, and _always_ to the extreme.

She thinks its choking her, he thinks he's doing her a favor. She thinks it's pathological, he thinks she's over reacting.

There's a common hell hole all happily married man and woman can fall into –the councilor says. Bullshit he says –he thinks they're indestructible, Rukia and him. _Not_.

It's spinning, spinning, spinning, _everything is_.

When he finally sees their crumbling life, that and more often her cheek is red and his hand has a matching red hue, that she cries more than she laughs, that he forces her to eat with him, he realizes she's right, he's out of control.

So he quits. He goes away voluntarily.

He'll come back _proper_, he tells himself.

Months in rehabilitation forced him to keep his temper and thoughts always checked, to keep his eyes off psychological triggers.

Pathological. Psychological. Whatever the fuck.

So he looks at the sundown and appreciate its motherfucking beauty every time he's close to losing _it_. The pretty thing framed in tattered wood, its heated beams filtering through the glass and hitting him in the face, disabling his vision for a moment. Yeah. That shit is pretty. Yeah. That shit is pretty. Fucking inspiring. Fucking calming.

But the judge rules out his unfit to go back to her, that he's a danger to her.

Doctors and nurses and psychologists can't do shit about him.

He couldn't move in this shabby wooden seat –actually, he does not know why he even came. It's the judge's decision –not his. Because he wouldn't _ever_ let go of her.

Now he sounds like a damn sap.

He stays still -Ichigo stays still, seating and looking out the window. His divorce proceeding continues.

He looks angry. But he isn't really angry. Because he's more human right now and less of the aggressive male he is –_he's sad_. Sad like a boy who lost his first beloved puppy in a car crash, sad like a girl who lost her father in a war.

He ruined his marriage. He fucking ruined his marriage.

Rukia gets up from her seat and signs the papers. _Well, damn._ It's his turn to sign. He forces himself to look away from the window and to her.

No one looks at him, but her. She looks at him straight and hard and penetrating. She's beautiful. For one wild moment, he thinks, what if he kiss her right now? Cancel all these shit? That he's okay now? Tell her that the rehab fucking worked? That he's really, really okay? Get back to her and start again-she hands him the pen. His heart skips a beat or stops -he doesn't care what.

There's no fucking chance.

He takes the pen and signs. The first stroke is a little shaky, he tries hard not to lose it at the last stroke. That's it. Done. Burned. Right in the fucking dumpster.

He tries not to speak when the judge asks him a petty question he does not understand. He nods his head instead, afraid his voice might break or sound girly.

He puts the pen down and sits back down to his previous spot. He looks out the window again. He's close to crying. Fuck.

He hears someone says a stiff 'thank you' then the shuffling of footsteps, minutes pass and he thinks they are gone but out of the corner of his eyes, he notices Rukia is still in the room, watching him. The sundown is pretty. He looks away. The sundown is pretty. Could he talk to her one last time? But the sundown is really fucking pretty, he must not look away. Just one word, maybe a simple _sorry_-then he hears the doors close. She's gone.

He closes his eyes, slumps in defeat and thinks, that's a really beautiful sundown.

Silences annihilates. Reality descends.

Now what?

**…o0O0o…**

_the end_

**Author's Note**

thanks for reading.

-_appleschan_

*i never thought this day would come, i'm tired of writing. this is why I'm writing bittersweet.


	10. brightside

_Disclaimer: _I do not own Bleach. I make no profit.

_Theme_: all

_Warning: _all

_Chapter word count:_ 422

_General summary: _string of unrelated bittersweet short one-shots.

_Chapter summary: no hatred, no regrets._

**bittersweet**

x

_brightside_

…**o0o…o0o…o0o…**

The aching pain of Arthritis, he thinks, never felt this welcoming. That, and the thick clouds of blurred vision -a benefit, he supposes, because he wouldn't be forced to see kids these days act so obscene. These two, and the relaxing dull lull of his slow, pitiful, weak heart between his black-punctured, wheezing lungs feel very pleasant. His doctors think otherwise.

He's dying. _He coughs._ Very, very good. _He coughs again_. At last.

He wonders where his stupid nurses could be. He escaped his retirement home for the nth time. For an old man of 75, his reflexes are great. He could laugh, really loud -in fact.

He sits in the oldest bench in the park, where the winds sway cautiously and hum delicately, where little children run around stomping his leather-clad feet, where he likes to sit around the whole day waiting eagerly for something so naturally feared and detested -death.

He does not –however- resent it. He isn't scared. Old Ichigo believes he isn't scared of death. He welcomes it.

Nothing serious, nothing bad, no angst, no hatred, no regrets for the life lived, just simply wanting to rest, to go where Rukia went first, to follow her everywhere.

Rukia got to rest first, when the doctor said "There's no cure." ten years ago, on a winter night. They said goodbye to each other. Peacefully. Then he thanked her, she thanked him and he never left her deathbed.

He also told her, never wander off too much, he might not be able to find her because of her height.

She said she wanted to die asleep. So he counted the sheep with her, he counted the last seconds with her.

And in the end, when her lips parted for her final smile, he never felt more accomplished. He knew it's the very reason of his existence.

He still has it, the ability to think clearly, to be bothered little by useless outside commotions. So he relaxes carelessly, stretching his arms and reclining on the hard bench. He cares not for people thinking; what an old jerk hogging the entire bench.

it's probably afternoon because he feels the warm breeze, not scorching or disturbingly irritating like the summer heat. It's calming, _just_ calming.

He dreams of being with her countless times already –he can't wait to be young again.

He closes his eyes.

When he finally meets Death, whose face is probably marred by its hideous reputation, he'll bow respectfully. Then he'll turn around and look for Rukia

just as he promised.

He hopes the day is today. He could die now. Maybe right now -or a little bit later.

**…o0O0o…**

_the end_

**Author's Note**

i should complain about trying to keep writing but ends up being tired more often, because this weekend, i suddenly got time for fandom activities, but i used it to sleep instead. So now, it's sunday night, i'm wide awake and it's monday tomorrow and i only accomplished this and tumblr lazy scrolling. but i guess i'll sleep more. i like sleep.

and i also kinda like present tense -but i should probably say it doesn't like me.

thanks for reading.  
-_appleschan_

_*__Coldplay's Yellow –to date- never failed as my writing jump starter.__ majestic song. _

_*i have decided pheasants are fantastical creatures, i shall keep them in reserve because of said reason. no pheasant for you, snow. cheerio._


	11. fortune teller

_Disclaimer: _I do not own Bleach. I make no profit.

_Warning: _all_._

_Theme: _all_._

**bittersweet**

XI. fortune teller

_appleschan_

* * *

The morning**  
**

Ichigo wakes up early, forgets breakfast, and goes to school.

He walks, not in a hurried manner, but listless, slow, and observant.

Every day he takes this route, the longer one, the one where he needs to literally hike to go to school. He travels the road along unoccupied lots and trees, zigzagging up, down, and side towards his school.

There, he finds something his regular walks to school deny him; silence.

The midday

Ichigo listens to class, gets up from his seat and eats lunch with Chad.

Ichigo thinks it's too early for flowers to bloom. Cherry Blossoms do not fall at this time of the year. Irksome it is that some stupid petals found their way up and landed on his bento.

Mizuiro said something to him, but he does not hear him clearly and makes no effort to ask.

On the way up, he hears and sees the ghost from the third floor laboratory room 6. A boy, obviously. Ichigo actually thinks he's a goofy ghost. He presses his face on the lab glass door when girls pass by but glares at every boy like he wants to haunt their dreams. The ghost, maybe, followed the group of girls eating lunch beside them. Ichigo thinks he might have laughed.

The midnight.

Ichigo goes home, does his homework and sleeps.

He decides, it's too inconvenient to sleep on his left side, so he rolls on the right side. Then he rolls again, and again, and again, and then he finally settles on a flat position. Not good, so he rolls again, and again, and again. His bed feels like some flat, cheap mattress -maybe it's really a flat, cheap mattress. Maybe, he should save up for a better one. Or wrestle his father into giving him a proper one.

It's too hot, and his shirt isn't exactly cool either. No choice. He leans on his headstand. There isn't too much space in his room, and their whole house actually. If he passes the entrance exam, he'll become a doctor and work in a large hospital. Maybe he'll earn big. Big. Then buy a bigger house. His father is a talented doctor, but he opted for a small town service. Maybe he won't be like him, or maybe he will.

It's 2 am, and the murdered kid's ghost who haunts the street light near his home is probably sobbing again. Ichigo debates whether he should go or not. For what? He could not help them anyway. But maybe, he'll stay and talk a little longer tomorrow after school. Then he'll talk to the ghost again the day after tomorrow to try and sooth her because he has nothing better to do. And if it does not work, he'll try again the next day. And the next day. And the next.

* * *

**The End**

excuse this, it's not exactly bs.

stream of consciousness, not the full plunging one, just somewhat. i hope it's boring, melancholic and empty. it's the idea. *_me -disappears laughing_*

chapter summary: life which he never met her.


	12. prostemo

_Disclaimer: _I do not own Bleach. Similarities in real life are coincidence. Purely fictional. I make no profit.

_Warning: _all_._

_Theme: _all_._

Chapter Summary: reverse chance.

**bittersweet**

XII. prostemo

_appleschan_

* * *

It's a tracker. The program says it is a tracker of some sort.

So far, the tenth question irks him the most, "_what is your preferred animal to pet_?"

He needs to roll his eyes so the program can map his irritation and send it back to its makers and hopefully convey; what a fucking annoying question.

So he rolls his eyes and says, "I don't know, some fucking rabbits, maybe?" Remembering bunnies and ladies were somewhat sexual symbols in the past decades.

"_Thank you_." Says the program.

Fuck it. Does he need this? The program is based on a principle that _men are hunters_, and as such, named Venator -which sounds like a name for a straight up horrific sex toy. Damn ridiculous name choice for a room-wide holographic display of swirling blacks and grays with a crisp white font and a digital cool female voice asking him his preferred partner related questions.

Thirty years after the advent of various techs, then comes the Esse Programs.

_Human relationship became so fragile and brittle that technology finally entered it. People have little time for genuine communication, resulting in serious problems like birth and deaths. _

_Esse is the first program to remedy the human relationship, Esse offers the solution to the greatest hide and seek game ever; track people perfect for together from all over the world. _

_Chance encounters are chance encounters. Very, very few people enjoy it. _

_Esse hopes to make it available for everyone. Let us reverse chance._

_Thank you for purchasing Esse Programs._

And Ichigo thinks, as he read the description at the side of the display, is he one those fools who want to 'reverse' it?

One of its private programs is called the Venator, a glossed, nondiscriminatory, elite, hyped, expensive dating system exclusive to men. He hears there is one for females too and another limited edition.

_Actually_-

Ichigo drops his mug and the coffee splattered on his black plush carpet.

The program does more for him simply because he's wealthy. The Venator -Ichigo grimaces- is capable of browsing the memories of the 'tracked' person. The Venator offers complete immersion yet limited access to the conscious and to some very rare occasions, the subconscious mind of the person -a feature reserved only for the extremely well-off. The access is one time viewing only, thus providing limited time for the client to view the life of the 'tracked' person, _and_, a little bit of privacy for the person. Ichigo supposes it's still goddamn illegal.

They do this to ensure perfect 'match-up' and that the hunter –man- likes his partner on all levels. And to keep the program's zero failure rating.

The Esse came from an accidental lapse in a phenomenal Neuroscience medical breakthrough that became worldwide. Not many knew about it. Some worked against it. Some took advantage of it.

The Venator is only offered to wealthy men surrounded by ambitious other people and immersed in the solidarity of digital world, unable to find genuine personalities.

Esse functions as search engine for people. As simple as that, a fucking search engine. But the private sub-program Venator is for more thorough match-up, to seek people who are perfect for each other.

However, what comes next is entirely up to the purchaser.

If the couples aren't happy with each other, the program offers a clean-up drive, a clean exit, a clean 'break up.' The program will erase memories of each other -physical to emotional to mental. All gone. Wiped out. Leaves a state of mind where the so-called heart break does not exist. It enables the person to start again without bad memories. Back to start.

And it's probably back to step one: renewing the account in the Venator program.

He's 27. His father says he's a worthless breeder, _where are my grandkids!?_ Women say he's brilliant, rich and attractive –a damn stereotype.

He thinks he's bored. Fucking bored to death. Another damn stereotype.

Ichigo sits quietly while he waits for the program to finish processing. The lip gloss still in his lips. The naked bombshell model is still in his bed. His room is still untidy. His bed sheets are all torn. His place smells like a female high-end perfume. His couch has terrible scratches -he fucked her on the couch, it is bound to have girly nail scratches. His dining table is broken -oh, he fucked her on top of the table too or was it the previous one? His bar is filled with broken glass, lipstick and shattered liquor bottles. She's the fifth in the past 36 hours.

Yeah. He's been pretty fucked-up lately.

The glossy and dark swirls and crisp bold font forms words, then the program speaks again.

It asks –still in that annoyingly cool female voice, "_Your name and location_."

He answers, "Kurosaki Ichigo. Munich."

He wonders if this is a waste of his time.

The program's black and gray display remains while the white font disappears and the female digital voice speaks again.

"Thank you. Please wait while we find her."

* * *

**To Be Continued**

k. cut. has part 2. feeling sci-fi-ish. esse = existence. i broke my bs format.


End file.
